Sympathy for Tomorrow
by Mel Angel
Summary: Yet another A/L slashfic. While searching for the two captured hobbits, Legolas is injured... (rating is PG-13 right now. Will probably move to the appointed "R" in the next few chapters.)
1. What Hope May Bring

Author's note: Saying this ONCE in this fic and once only. Will not repeat this: Don't own 'em. Wish I did. Suing would only earn you a hefty debt earned by the computer used to type this story up. ;-) Slashy! A/L, of course. (well.. not of course unless you know me. )   
  
Oh so very slightly AU. Not massively out of character, but I'm sure there are a few instances where they are. Same location. Same time frame (at least for now)... just with a little twist from my twisted little mind. And this time Legolas will NOT DIE! gahh, I'm getting sick of unlabeled death fics. Death fics confuse and depress me. Call me an elf at heart, but I don't like death fics! .  
  
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"Aragorn!" The cry, at first sounding very much like one of the Hobbits, proved to alight from the one member of the Fellowship the soon-to-be King of Gondor least suspected.  
  
The elf.  
  
Pain laced the word, and without a second thought the ranger sped toward the creator of the sound, swatting aside brambles and slicing through thicker vine-like plant life. To lose yet another member of the Fellowship would be too distressing after so recently losing Gandalf and Boromir. And to lose Legolas was a further blow.   
  
And then he erupted onto the scene where Legolas had cried out, the human's face blanching at the sight. All around the clearing, dead orc lay in heaps, arrows piercing them in their throats, their eyes ... any vulnerable areas. And in the center lay the elf, his golden hair stained pink with his own blood, breathing hard.  
  
Injured. Legolas Greenleaf had been struck, and from what Aragorn could see, he'd been the recipient of multiple blows to nearly everywhere on his body. Gimli, who had trailed the heir of Gondor into the clearing, hung back despite his friendship to the elf. Now wasn't the time, he knew. Carefully, Aragorn knelt beside his fallen comrade, arms slipping as gently as possible to pick the immortal up -- always surprised as to how light Legolas was -- and carry him to a safe place they could make camp. And they needed to hurry. The prince of Mirkwood was loosing blood fast.  
  
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Legolas felt lost as he came to, muddling through a mind of hazy, black clouds and muffled words. He could vaguely hear someone talking to him, or at least trying to talk to him. A masculine voice. Not the Dwarf.... it had to be...  
  
Aragorn.   
  
He struggled to open his eyes, though the lids felt heavy, blinking repeatedly till his vision finally focused a bit. There. A pair of eyes, hazel-blue, gazed down on him in concern, though a smile did form on the lips just below those oculars as Aragorn realized that Legolas was waking up.  
  
"Stay still, Legolas... You were hurt badly." The warning came softly, and with the slightest nod, the elf complied. Fingers probed his temples, then down his neck... along his arms.. then to his sides before a yelp escaped his mouth. That had *hurt*! Aragorn leaned back slightly then, worry flickering over his features.  
  
"At least one of your ribs is broken. I fear more. And the wound to the back of your head worries me. Legolas... I heard no warning till your cry. Why didn't you call for help?"  
  
The elf actually grinned then, though the gesture was weak at best. "I did not realize how many there were till it was too late..." The reply was soft, choked and raw and so unlike the usual sounds that would flow like deep crystal bells from the son of Thranduil. It upset Aragorn even further.  
  
"Stubborn elf," came a comment from Gimli, who was watching from a little ways away, stoking the small fire Aragorn had allowed for the evening. Legolas only offered an apologetic smile before closing his eyes once more.  
  
"Will I heal quickly enough to help?" the question came, his breathing slowing slightly as weariness crept up along the elf's form. Healing, as most with injuries near as bad as the ones Legolas had, was tiring work.  
  
"You should be able to run again in two days, if you don't jar anything till then. We will continue on our way to find the halflings then. I cannot risk you as well, Legolas. We've lost too many already."  
  
Legolas only sighed then, but relinquished the decision to his friend and comrade in fighting. He was disappointed, but it seemed there was little occurring here that could be helped. He wasn't required, however, to LIKE being helpless. A kiss was felt upon his brow -- feather light -- and his eyes opened to focus upon the Ranger drawing back before sleep took him. Real sleep for him ... not some closed-eye, unconsciousness. Happily, he drifted into elven dreams, musing over the caress of lips upon his brow.  
  
It should have worried him, really. Considering Aragorn rarely kissed anyone unless they were deathly ill, dead already, or had done some great service to him. Perhaps he'd been lumped into the latter category without reason? But whatever the cause was, it only brought a smile to his lips as the night wore on. The pain had already faded to a dull ache made easier to bear by the salves concocted by his human leader, and there was little they would care to bother him with till morning.   
  
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"Legolas... Legolas, wake up... we're moving slowly today, if you can manage. Carefully, though. Injuring yourself further would only be a hindrance."  
  
The elf nodded slightly at Estel's words. Estel. Hope. The idea sounded less strange to him now that he'd experienced Hope firsthand. Aragorn was known by many names in these lands. Strider. Ellesar. Estel. Aragorn. Elf friend. Of them all, Estel was the one Legolas felt suited him best. He could see now why humans looked to him for hope. He could see, as well, why Elves regarded him so warmly when warmth to outsiders was no longer so frequent a gift.  
  
He.... Oh for goodness sake! If he continued down that line of thinking any longer, one might think he had *feelings* for the man! Chuckling at the thought to chase it away, he shook his head, strapping the quiver, bow and daggers -- taken from him to treat his wounds the night before -- upon his back once more with the help of that very human. He still ached, but he seemed to be able to walk, maybe even jog if needed, without causing further injury to himself. Running, though, seemed out of the question at least for the morning. He could still feel how precariously knitted his bones were starting to become.   
  
Tirelessly - or so it would seem to any onlooker -- they moved through forest, over rock and root till they escaped the trees for rolling hills. There would be no fire tonight, it would seem. It was too risky to call such attention to themselves out in the open with no trees to shield the light from ill-willing onlookers. Still, they had to camp soon. The sun was setting and the trail, at least to Dwarf and Human, would become too hard to read. Much to his own dismay, Legolas knew he would not make it running through the night. The strain was already beginning to show.  
  
They settled down - Aragorn offering to take the first watch, Gimli claiming the second by default -- using the Lothlorien cloaks for shelter against the elements. Seeing how difficult it was for the elf to get comfortable with his multitude of hurts, Aragorn cursed himself mentally for not carrying at least a small pack. Something he could use as a pillow, at the very least. It wasn't that he wished to coddle the prince ... he was simply concerned. Yes. Concerned for the well being of what little remained of the Fellowship. Or at least, that's what he told himself repeatedly. It was a lie, though.  
  
Oh, it wasn't that he didn't feel concern for the elf. He did. It was the reason behind that concern that he was fooling himself about. He'd ignored the stirrings within his heart every time Legolas looked his way since they left Rivendell. There was no denying that the Prince of Mirkwood was attractive. Almost all of the female elves in Rivendell were fussing over him, as were nearly half the male! But it was the noble qualities Legolas possessed that truly attracted.   
  
It was when that quiet prince rose to his feet in defiance of Boromir's rude comments that Aragorn first noticed the elf. He remembered the carefully guarded fury that burned within the royal's eyes as he reprimanded the hotheaded Man of Gondor. Legolas looked *alive* then. More alive than he'd seen anyone look. The battle between Legolas Greenleaf and Arwen Evenstar had begun in the Ranger's heart at that very moment.   
  
And now it appeared that Legolas was winning by a landslide, and there was nothing ... absolutely NOTHING that Aragorn could do.  
  
Except continue to pretend that nothing was wrong. That nothing was bothering him except that he was concerned over his comrade.  
  
But everyone knows how rotten Fate is about being ignored.   
  
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Legolas, for all the lore that elves didn't feel the elements as much as the other creatures of Middle Earth, was cold. Heavens, he was shivering! It had been two hours since Gimli began his noisy snoring. Two hours since Aragorn began his patrol. And Legolas could barely stop his teeth from chattering!  
  
The comfort of the Lorien cloak was helpful, but not enough. His body had used what little energy it had to knit his bones together and heal his wounds. It had nothing left to keep his form warm during this chilly night. Even the bites of Lembas had done nothing to ease the bite of cold that began to worm it's way though his form.  
  
Another cloak surprised him, seemingly laying itself over him. He forgot to question it's origin for a few blissful moments, curling himself beneath the two layers of fabric contentedly before the laws of cause and effect dawned on him. Bright eyes focused in query upon the Ranger now kneeling by his side, checking to be sure both cloaks covered the elf completely.   
  
"I am not a child, Aragorn. And you need your cloak more than I." The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, and almost as soon as they were uttered, Legolas knew they would be contested.  
  
"You are hurt, Master Elf. And I have twice as many layers of clothing as you to keep me warm, cloak or no cloak. You, on the other hand, are shivering even now, despite both sheets of fabric wrapped around you."   
  
Legolas scowled more because the man was right than anything, earning him a chuckle from the human.  
  
"Legolas, son of Thranduil, you are the most stubborn elf I've ever met sometimes.. and yet I am still in awe as to how you could still BE stubborn right now, when you are so clearly suffering. Come here if you wish warmth." The offer was made as the man settled back, his body bracing itself against a rock in case the elf actually had some breath of insanity for whatever reason and accepted.   
  
For all of ten seconds, Legolas of Mirkwood simply stared at Strider, and during that time, the human felt that the prince would retain his sanity and ignore the help offered. Obviously, either Legolas was injured more grievously than he'd like to admit, or he was touched slightly in the head, but he crawled over to the open arms and folded himself childishly into them, sighing in self-disgust as they closed around him. Immediately - and much to his relief - he felt the heat radiating from the Ranger warm him.   
  
"I swear that blow to the head is affecting my judgment," came the quiet words from Legolas's lips as he resigned to laying against the propped-up man.  
  
"Perhaps, young elf. And perhaps some sense was knocked past your pride in the process?" the retort came, earning a slight chuckle from both before the elf winced and quieted once more.  
  
"Young? I'm more than thirty-five times your elder, Human. You and the dwarf make me feel ancient."  
  
Aragorn only grinned at this, shifting himself slightly to position himself more comfortably as he cradled the elf.  
  
"True enough. Yet you are young for an elf."  
  
This brought a slight smile to the lips of Legolas, who despite realizing he was quite mad to be laying here in the lap of a human, seemed more than happy to remain for the time being.   
  
"We will find the Hobbits, Aragorn ... and they will be alive."  
  
Ellesar only nodded softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of the blonde's head. "Yes, dear friend. We will. Now rest and let your body recover itself. Tomorrow, we run."  
  
And so it was that Legolas slept in the embrace of Hope that night, and more peacefully since he'd left the safety of Rivendell.  
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Contrary to what most might think, the horses the Riders of Rohan provided actually helped Legolas heal. There was less bouncing than most men would face in his position, and though it took a bit of effort to remain atop his steed, it was less energy than walking. It seemed a miracle, but Legolas was more than on the mend. In a few short days, he'd be close to 100% once more. Fighting without fatigue.   
  
Aragorn hoped it would come even sooner, as he fretted more and more about the elf with each passing day, despite the obvious fact Legolas was getting better even with the worry that the halflings were no longer alive.   
  
The halflings. Aragorn's train of thought shifted rails, pondering what to do about the Hobbits. Should they be alive, all would be well. He dreaded to even think of the alternative, but circumstances being what they were, Aragorn feared more for the grief that would wash over them all should Merry and Pippin not survive. Gimli he knew would be sad, but would pull himself together and be ready to fight once more within a reasonably short period of time. Himself? He would sorely miss them. Fight? Yes, he'd continue to do so, but he wondered if his motions would be affected. He knew how attached the elf was to the pint sized men, how much joy their bantering and casually faux-innocent comments could bring. The elf might not survive another loss.  
  
Legolas....  
  
He glanced back at the immortal as they rode, smiling at the figure resting easy upon the bare back of his mount along with the tiny, stout body holding on behind. Gimli was uncertain about the horses at first, but his friendship with that ever so stubborn elf had won over and he'd reluctantly accepted to ride behind the golden-haired one. A grin was cast to him then by the elf and was cordially returned before Aragorn faced forward once more, searching for signs they were close to the smallest members of their Fellowship.  
  
They were a day's ride from Fangorn Forest when a soft shout from Gimli was heard behind him. Curious and a bit concerned, he turned his steed around to find a rather limp elf nearly falling atop the dwarf!  
  
Had the situation not been so grave, Aragorn would have laughed outright. As it was, he struggled to hold back a mild chuckle. They'd exhausted the elf - the immortal had passed out and not gone to sleep - as his eyes were closed and his body limp. Aragorn dismounted and moved over to Arod, the horse Legolas was upon, gently wrapping large, calloused hands around the delicate being's waist, drawing him from the horse. He motioned for Gimli to remain where he was for a moment, and Arod kept still so as not to unseat his slightly trembling rider.  
  
With more care than he'd treat porcelain, he lay his elf down upon a small patch of soft grass, then returned to aid the dwarf from his mount. Gimli slid gratefully from the back of Arod, then busied himself with getting ready for the night. They'd ridden for three days straight, though at a pace that would not trouble the horses, stopping only for a few hours to rest the tired mounts. They did not eat nor sleep now, and it had obviously pushed the elf too far, too soon.  
  
Aragorn removed his water skin, allowing a few drops to trickle into his hands before carefully brushing the moisture over the pale forehead of Legolas. Though his friend was hardly feverish, the motion would easily rouse him from any forced unconsiousness ... and so it did. He saw pale azure eyes flutter open beneath him, gazing up in groggy disbelief to meet his own gaze. In that split second, all other things in Middle Earth disappeared. The ranger saw only the dazed, beautiful being beneath him.   
  
"Are you all right? We're resting here tonight... you've no need to move, and I'd advise not to," he murmured leaning slightly further back to get a better look at the prone prince.  
  
"I didn't fall, did I?" came the quiet, worried reply which won a hearty laugh from both man and dwarf.   
  
"No, Legolas. I don't think dragons could unseat you, even when you've lost your senses." This brought a grateful smile to Legolas's lips and he settled back against the grass. He was, indeed, tired and knew there would be no fire that night. They were out in the open once more.   
  
To be honest, Legolas had enjoyed the other nights before aquiring horses that they'd slept with no fire. He, at least, was not cold. Each night, Aragorn had slipped behind him, holding him with both cloaks wrapped around his elven form till morning came. It was a pleasent feeling, to say the least. He doubted, however, now that he had the energy to maintain his own body heat, that Aragorn would do the same tonight, despite the comfort it clearly brought the ranger as well.  
  
A regretful look passed over the pale, elven features at the thought. He was growing accustomed to the Dunadan -- the soft jokes, pleasent attitude and concerned gestures to the elf's own well being. He missed the soft breathing by the top of his head, the gentle rise and fall of a warm form beneath his own... Ah, Elbereth! He was falling for Aragorn! The realization brought a blush to his cheeks he fought desperately down, gaping both at the ranger preparing camp and at the fact he'd just finally understood what was happening to him.  
  
He was falling head over heels in love with the betrothed future king of Gondor.   
  
His heart sank ever so slightly as images of Arwen flooded his own mind, a betrayed and heartbroken look upon her sweet features. No. He couldn't even THINK of telling his friend. The pain it would cause the two of them, especially if his feelings were returned (and he suspected they weren't, luckily), would be more than Legolas could bear to cause.  
  
It didn't stop him, however, from accepting the mildly surprising return of the Ranger to resting behind him, the two cloaks covering both their bodies. When Legolas turned to cast a questioning look to the man behind him, Aragorn had only smiled and murmured about not wanting to risk a near-frozen, half-consious elf the next morning. It had earned him a good laugh, not only from Legoals but Gimli as well, who had overheard from his place a few feet away.   
  
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Aragorn sighed inwardly as he cradled the fatigued elf, lazily twirling fingers through the long strands of pale gold hair that skirted themselves over his chest. He would be able to give no more excuses soon. Legolas was almost well. His wounds had healed, only a slight pink line hidden beneath the glistening golden strands of his hair remained on his scalp to remind either that he'd even been injured. His ribs were still cracked, but those fractures were knitting quickly, as all elven bones did. Soon, the elf's strength would return completely and Aragorn would either have to swallow his pride and actually TELL Legolas of his feelings, or live the rest of his days wondering what could have been.  
  
Arwen Evenstar, as sweet as he knew she was, could not hold a candle's flickering flame to the fires the Prince of Mirkwood stirred within him unknowningly.  
  
Legolas slept soundly, dreaming the dreams only elfkind do, stirring slightly here and there but never fully waking. As he did, the hours Arathorn's son remained awake mounted higher and higher. He could not sleep like this! And then Legolas did what would be Aragorn's undoing. He twisted, stirring almost to the point of waking, and quite affectionately nuzzled the ranger's neck. Sparks shot from the sensitive skin where shoulder met chin and radiated through Aragorn's form like wildfire. It was the groan that very action drew from the man that woke Legolas. Imagine the surprise on his face when he'd learned he had shifted in his sleep somehow or another, to be curled like an infant or lover against the human, his face half-hidden against the warm curve of Elessar's throat.  
  
He'd been too groggy at the time to react, though those eyes went wide as he drew away slightly, staring at the drowsy royal he was laying atop.  
  
"Aragorn...?"  
  
"Legolas.. I .. you weren't sleeping well..."  
  
The startling sound of Gimli broke the mild trance they'd placed on each other then, both having forgotten that it was the dwarf who had taken the first watch.  
  
"I've never seen two people act so flustered around each other. It's obvious what you two want. Just give in and let me sit here in peace, for there is no reason all three of us ought to be up!"  
  
Both fair heads turned toward the outburst, shocked. Then almost tentively, a chuckle rose from Aragorn's throat. The dwarf, as calloused as his comments were, was right! He had put this off for far too long, and from what Gimli had so untactfully said, it was obvious to the dwarf he'd not be turned away.  
  
"Legolas ... forgive me if what I'm about to do offends..."  
  
And with those whispered words, he slid fingers cautiously behind the head of his graceful companion and drew his face that much closer to the king's own... and kissed him.  
  
It was hesitant at first, feather light. Like rain on parched earth, and Legolas couldn't resist. Not even if he'd wanted to could he resist. A pleasent cry of suprise had been the only sound he uttered before it was muffled by the warm mouth of Hope itself, and he found himself drowning slowly, melting against this human that had slowly but certainly stolen his heart.   
  
The kiss, sweet and chaste, lasted for a few precious moments before both pulled back an inch or so, gazing in wonder upon the other. Then smiles formed upon the lips that moved to exchange one more gift upon each other. Content with the new situation between them both, however, they simply settled back, Aragorn cradling Legolas beneath the cloaks, both falling quickly into slumber.  
  
Two feet to the left of both, Gimli only grinned. Finally.  
  
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A.N.: Of course this isn't the end. ^_^ There's nothing major in this! But I don't know WHEN I'll be able to get around to writing more. I write when the muses stir me, and at the moment they're not doing too much. This was the first ficlet I've written in months, and I hope it pleases you all. 


	2. Upon Hope's Wings

Okay, following the movie cannon's plot here, instead of book, as it allows for more.. umm... "fretting" moments. However, I stick to facts brought in the book, such as Legolas rides bareback. Also, I'm making the ride to Helm's Deep only a day long, which gives Legolas and Gimli a day and a half before Aragorn needs to show up Yup. Your darling author is EVIL. *cackle*  
  
Oh yeah. Though it's not showing up that there are any reviews on FF.net yet, the emails from the bot just came in. 4 or 5 reviews in less than a day! I've never had anyone like my stuff that much! *huggles all who liked* Awww.. you love me! ... er... okay, so you don't love me. You just love my work. ^_^ Just as good.   
  
Anyway, enjoy chapter 2.  
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Helm's Deep. The name itself brought a shudder of regret to the elf of Mirkwood as he approached ... without Aragorn at his side. It was meant as no offense to Gimli, who was beginning to border on very close friendship, but the loss of Aragorn stung him more than he thought possible. In truth, had Theoden King not spoken at the cliffs, they might have lost the elf to the rapids as well. As it was, the gift Arwen had given the man was heavy in the pouch at his waist, for it carried in it's tiny silver intricacies the grief that threatened to claim his own life.   
  
Gimli had not seen Legolas so sick in appearance. Never. Not even after Gandalf fell had the grief shown this much. He rode as if dead, his fingers barely gripping in the mane of the horse he rested upon. What scared Gimli the most was that with each day's passing, the elf seemed to grow smaller and smaller at the waist... he was no longer eating.  
  
Alas for the elf! Forever would he call Helm's Deep a cursed place, as forever he would call Galadriel's gift to him fair. Silently, the dwarf worried of what was to come. With ill tidings such as this upon their arrival, could they even begin to hope of surviving?  
  
One day passed, the men of Helm's Deep busy stocking the caves and preparing supplies. One day passed with Legolas brooding in the small quarters he'd been given by Theoden generously, or lifelessly aiding the men around in shuffling swords and hubarks around. One day with Gimli uncertain as to how he might comfort the elf.   
  
That night, Gimli appeared in the doorway to the elf's quarters, head hung low. Legolas was found sitting numbly upon his makeshift bed of hay-stuffed fabric, gazing ahead as if unseeing while bone-thin fingers plucked straw after straw out of his bed, one by one, crumbling them in between his digits before going for the next. Gimli guessed the prince didn't even realize what his fingers were doing.  
  
"Master Elf, I know there is nothing this dwarf could say to ease your grief, but..."  
  
"Then say nothing, Gimli. Nothing comforts, and every word of him is like a dagger to me."  
  
The dwarf only nodded faintly then, edging ever so carefully toward his aching friend. When he reached the bed, a hand was brought forward to rest upon Legolas's shoulder, closing gently when he was met with no resistance.   
  
Seconds passed with the unresponsive elf, ticking only in mind, before the immortal could stand it no longer. A wail rang from the room that could have stopped the Balrog thought to have claimed Gandalf till recently flat in his tracks. A mournful cry of love lost, never to be hoped for again. This keen was followed by choked sobs as he collapsed against Gimli, who - startled - reached out to catch and cradle the Prince's form as it trembled in his sorrow.  
  
Even his own grief seeing Balin's Tomb was nothing compared to this. It appeared as if someone had taken the thread that was the life of his elven friend and snipped it in half, leaving him broken and irrepairable.  
  
"I'm sorry, Legolas... I'm so very sorry..."   
  
The elf only whimpered softly and clung to Gimli for a few moments longer before lifting himself and brushing his tears away. "Gimli... Thank you. You are a true friend, Dwarf or no."   
  
Though the elf's voice sounded hollow, the axeman recognized the attempt toward feeling and nodded briefly in acknowledgement.   
  
"If you ever need me, Legolas, you know you can talk to me." He smiled then, though it was a weak attempt, and peered toward the elf once more, this time a tad more light-hearted. "Come, Master Elf... You've not eaten since we arrived, and if you are to fight here, it will not do to have you weak from hunger."  
  
A few quick sniffles were made before Legolas felt he was ready to stand, let alone leave his room again, and he followed his friend silently out to fetch something from the mess hall.  
  
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Legolas Greenleaf had become a subject to be watched since the night before. The men of Rohan stared at him in wonder, as the entire fortress had heard the melancholy cry he'd uttered only a few hours earlier than that very morning. He still didn't eat much, and was in fact poking at a half a biscuit and a small wedge of cheese with a look that showed he had no intention of eating it till the dwarf at his side elbowed him sharply just below the ribs (as all the men had been warned that though they appeared healed, not to risk rebreaking them so soon). A mouthful was taken of bread, a nibble of cheese, then he'd stopped again, and resumed pushing the items around on his plate.  
  
A cry of warning came from the people standing watch over the walls, murmurs of a sole rider that appeared half dead approaching errupted swiftly through the crowds that gathered around the courtyard of Helm's Deep, and both Legolas and Gimli sprang from their morning meal to search out the source of the rumors. Gimli, eager to hope it was, indeed, Aragorn, shoved his way between people to the front, while Legolas, afraid of the same hope, hung back and simply gazed over the crowds.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, the rider entered the gates of Helm's Deep, proving it was, indeed, a very beaten Aragorn.  
  
"Let me through! I'll kill him!" came the growl of Gimli, who finally managed to arrive at the side of his human companion, snaring him in a tight hug before glancing up at him.   
  
"We missed you," came the only words from his lips before gesturing first to the tearfully happy Eowyn, then to the mute, shocked elf up the stairs.   
  
Legolas kept trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, his emotions laying in a tattered mess around him. He resisted the urge to hug the man when Aragorn approached, and instead murmured in choked Sindarian, "You're late..."  
  
Aragorn, though he fully understood the language, stared at Legolas as if he didn't understand. A movement by the elf's waist caught his eye, and within seconds, the prince had produced the pendant the elven Evenstar had bestowed upon Aragorn, placing it tenderly into the man's outstretched hand.   
  
"You look terrible."   
  
Aragorn only grinned at this, then quickly snared the elf into a quick embrace before canting his head toward the main hall of Theoden King.   
  
"There are matters that need to be discussed now. We can enjoy our reuniting later.... I promise."   
  
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How could he be so STUPID!? Their first real fight, and he'd allowed it to happen in front of the other men! It was his fault entirely, Legolas mused. He had lost his temper. He had continued the discussion - thankfully in Sindarian - right in front of them all. He had let his fear over take him.  
  
Mortality seemed all to near after hearing Aragorn's news. Ten thousand men and orcs marched to Helm's Deep, and they would be there shortly after nightfall.   
  
Ten THOUSAND.  
  
He'd apologised, of course, but it helped only a fraction for most of all, he feared for Aragorn's life. His own barely bothered him, as he knew Aragorn had Arwen to rely on should he fall, but selfishly, he knew he had no one to lean upon should the King of Men die that night. Not even Gimli had been much help when he thought the man dead, and they weren't even truly lovers yet!  
  
Legolas feared how deeply his emotions would run the day they ever dared to become so.  
  
But the battle was upon them, and there was little Legolas could say or do to help matters. Eomer, his kinsmen, and every available warrior - man or child - was armed to the teeth and ready to give his life defending the Deep. So it was with Legolas, azure visionaries wide as he gazed outward from his post along the Deeping wall, staring at the torches of the approaching army. How they would survive this, Legolas did not know.   
  
A warm hand clasped upon his shoulder then, followed by a chaste kiss upon his cheek.   
  
Aragorn.  
  
"Worry not, Master Elf. Our defenses can and will hold, and I *will* talk to you when this is all over. There is much I need to tell you... much I wish to say, though now is not the time. Keep yourself sound, Legolas... You are too near my heart already for me to lose you now before we've even had the chance to know one another better."  
  
The words flooded Legolas with a new sense of purpose and joy. And when the orcs and Uruk-hai finally began their attack, Legolas fired those arrows with a fierce war cry. Just let them come!  
  
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The horrors seen after the battle nade all involved mildly ill to the stomach. Once all enemies were certain to be defeated, Legolas picked his way over the dead to collect as many of his own (and others as well crafted) arrows that had not broken in battle. Soon, however, he found he could no longer remain among the fallen, instead fleeing toward the main hall to collect his thoughts and settle his stomach, which threatened to rebel on him at the sight of so many men and orc dead.  
  
It wasn't that he was weak. He'd killed orc before. He'd killed men before, too.   
  
But to see it in that large quantity... he found what little was left in his stomach rising upward, and he was soon sick in one of Theoden's clay pots littering the walls. A cool hand pressed against his forehead shortly after, and a waterskin offered. Before he even looked to see who it was who was being so very kind, he rinsed his mouth out once, then took two good drinks. Finally, eyes drifted upward.  
  
"Estel..."  
  
Those lips, smeared with blood and dirt, curved upward as fingers gently trailed through a few strands of the elf's hair.   
  
"This is your first large battle, isn't it?" he asked in genuine concern. Legolas nodded faintly, leaning into the comforting hand as it continued to nearly pet him. The sensation stopped shortly after, however, when the future-king sat down beside the fair one.  
  
"Many are sick after their first battle... sometimes even during it. If you weren't even mildly ill, I'd worry about your heart... let alone your mind." And with that, an arm was slung about the elf's shoulders, holding him close for a few moments. Legolas had to laugh at the human's words, really.... He couldn't imagine NOT getting sick after seeing such a sight.  
  
"I'll be glad when the Ring is destroyed and we can all go home. Facing Arwen, whether you chose her or myself, would be like a trickling brook compared to this," the elf mused, and Aragorn actually laughed full and outright.  
  
"Legolas... dear Legolas... there will be no Arwen in my life, save as a friend. My heir? I shall adopt one of these refugees if need be. Legolas... I do not know if I love you... but I know I can no longer marry the Evenstar with love in my heart. She deserves better than "acceptance." ... Don't you think?"  
  
Legolas swallowed this information in with an expression of bewilderment and shock on his face. Love? Well, he couldn't expect Aragorn, or anyone for that matter, to fall in love with him so quickly. He wasn't sure if he loved the future king, either. But the lightness that flooded his heart to know he would no longer marry Arwen... it made him think he could fly! He could barely believe it was real, that he was hearing this all and it was not some fading dream. He wanted to jump into the royal's lap and kiss him soundly, right then and there. Instead, he pressed a chaste peck upon the man's cheek and offered a soft smile before rising to head to his room, then clean the blood and grit from his body.   
  
"Thank you, Estel. My eternal Hope."  
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A/N: See! happy endings for each chapter. More to come. Muses have a fire under their rear ends, it seems, for they're running wild in my mind recently! Then again, it may just be all the reviews I got! Hee!!! 


	3. Out of the Darkness

Yet another boring Author's Note. It appears I'm going to be mixing the movie universe with the book universe, as there are parts Peter Jackson introduced to the movie that work well even though not included in the books. However, when push comes to shove, the book universe is what I will attempt to adhere to. There were no elves at Helm's Deep (well, none save Legolas), for example, in the books as there are no elves at Helm's Deep in my story. Eomer was always at the battle in the books, as he was in my story. In that sense, you will probably be reading a massive dumping of Spoilers. Consider yourself warned.  
  
Inferno - Legolas and Aragorn probably had met before then... even in my story. But Aragorn probably just hadn't noticed him as he had at the council. Thanks!  
  
Ithildin - the muses don't remain fire-lit for very long, pray they are this time!  
  
Anyway, with all of that said and done, here cometh Chapter Three!!! Someone go grab the crackers and champagne....  
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The battles that errupted through Middle Earth trapped the pockets of beings where they were in defense of their own borders. Galadriel and Celeborn were fighting for the forest of Lothlorien. Elrond, Arwen... they were gritting their teeth to keep Rivendell safe. Mirkwood was being defended by Thranduil and his people. The twins, the sons of Elrond, rode hard to meet Aragorn along with his kin.  
  
There was not a single place in all of Middle Earth that was not battling, either for or against the Dark Lord.   
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~~~"I bring word to you from my father: 'The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.' "~~~  
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Gondor, and specifically Minas Tirith, was under the heaviest fire. Legolas and Gimli were following Aragorn on the fabled Paths of the Dead, though luckily the dead did not bother Legolas. They did, however, give Gimli - as well as all of the men in Aragorn's crew - the shivers. Even the twins Elladan and Elrohir did not escape the foul feelings, as they were also partially human. It was only the Legolas who kept Gimli from fretting too much, and it was the elf's nonplussed attitude that gave the men hope. And it was the elf, again, who kept Aragorn's heart alive enough to continue, though no one realized this small fact.  
  
It seemed an eternity to all those mortal that followed Aragorn through the Paths few dared to take before they were finally out, breathing more lightly despite the army of those dead returned to champion for their oath following like some unearthly prayer. Leading them all - living, dead, and immortal - was Aragorn, riding like a feather in his saddle, his face grim and determined to find some sort of light in the darkness that covered the lands he was destined to rule. Never before had anyone admired him more than those who witnessed him on that day. Away they rode, riding as fast as those walking could move toward Gondor, to the fields between Minas Tirith and the Darkness of Mordor.   
  
The final Alliance had been made, though it did differ slightly from the original. Men. Elves. Dwarves. Hobbits. Ents. Every sentient creature within the boundaries of their continent was ready and willing to fight that day. Orcs. Goblins. Uruk-hai. Nazgul. They were all readying themselves for the battles already breaking out on the borders of other lands. Lothlorien was under attack. Imladris. Mirkwood. The Shire. Rohan. Gondor.  
  
To the victors would go the world as they knew it, for whatever fate they had in store for it. Aragorn seemed determined to rise above it all, and seemed willing to die for that very cause he was urging his group toward. Even as they left the Dead to their rest once more, they knew Middle Earth could not fall to the will of the Deceptor. The will of the Dark Lord.  
  
Before any of the fellowship realized it, the war had begun. Orcs clashed with Elf. Man battled his kin, the Uruk-hai... once again the land was stained with blood. Many fell within the very first minutes, and more continued to drop as time wore on. Through the battle, each member of the Fellowship kept watch for the others, for Elrond's son's, and for the few good friends they had made along the way - when they could. It was rare when they would have a second or two to glance the battle field over before another of the Enemy would advance upon them, forcing their swords, daggers and bows to sing once more.  
  
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Elrohir lay in one of the halls of Minas Tirith a single day after the fighting had finally ended, still uncleaned as he had been aiding those able to care for the wounded, checking the prone forms upon the battle field for any that still might live. Nearly all that had survived had spent hours searching around them for those trapped, unconscious, or simply too wounded to move themselves from where they sat. The son of Elrond was utterly exhausted, not to mention filthy beyond proper recognition. In fact, it had taken Legolas a few good moments before finally realizing who it was resting his back against the stone wall behind him, dark hair ratted and caked with mud. Then again, he himself looked regretfully similar.  
  
"Elrohir! Have you not gotten any rest since yesterday?" the lighter elf queried, reaching to help his friend to stand. The twin offered a weak smile and shook his head in the negative before gesturing to the rather grime-coating the Prince of Mirkwood was sporting at that very moment.  
  
"And you are one to speak of such matters? Look at you, Legolas! How either of us will ever get clean is a bafflement I fear no elf has the remedy for," the dark-haired elf mused, managing enough humor to alight a chuckle from his companion.  
  
"You must remind me to badger our esteemed host for such things to aid that later, friend. I fear almost all coming from yesterday alive resemble us to some degree. Aragorn, even after washing his face clean recently, looks like he'd been dragged through mire and bog for hours with no rest afterward."   
  
The tone the younger elf used in describing his dearheart did not escape the keen ears of Elrohir, and Elrond's son could not help but grin.  
  
"You'll have time enough to help him clean. Come, Legolas... let us go back down to the healing quarters and see what other assistance we can be. Elladan and Gimli are both down there and I fear another battle might arise if we leave them without supervision for long."  
  
If felt good to laugh after so serious an occurance, and so they headed for the halls Elrohir had mentioned, washing their hands off in a basin before beginning to busy themselves with binding wounds, dressing scrapes and bracing broken limbs till the sun began to set once more. Even the soon-to-be-crowned King of Gondor joined them later, the grim task of mending the people gathered in Minas Tirith made easier by the presence of his Company and brothers.  
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It was Aragorn who finally stopped his friends hours later, realizing how exhausted they all were. A large, grit-covered hand clasped the shoulder of Elladan, then moved to Legolas's elbow, gripping it more affectionately than he had his foster-brother's.  
  
"Come... you all must be hungry and if my eyes do not lie, I believe we all need to clean and dress in clothing that isn't caked in mud and blood. Sleep might be an option as well." Protests were weak, though made, and the King's insistance won over their pathetic attempts to remain within the healing halls. All knew they were of little service at the moment, as those that had bothered to take rest the night before and during the day were waking and able to take over the small group's responsiblities.   
  
The twins quickly rushed to rooms they had been quartered in, eager to get into a more comfortable attire, while Gimli happily wandered to his own lodging in Minas Tirith's main halls. In fact, within a few seconds, Legolas and Aragorn were left alone in the rushed meeting place to wander to their own place of temporary residence. Weary, they leaned upon the other for support, picking their way slowly down the corridor.  
  
"I still can barely belief you're still alive after all that I've seen these past days, Legolas," came the soft whisper, choked somewhat by emotion as pained footfalls led them both away.  
  
"Elves are made of stronger stuff than what meets the eye, Aragorn... you of all people ought to have figured that out before," the prince teased, shaking his head slightly. He would certainly be glad to be clean once more, though he doubted that anything short of a waterfall could rid him of the chunks of mud that were ground into his hair and clothing, let alone his flesh. His distaste must have been obvious because Aragorn chuckled, fingers catching a few matted strands.   
  
"I think a surprise might be in order for you, Legolas. The baths are being prepared for the city's warriors as we speak... and I know how you detest being covered in dirt."  
  
To this the elf only grinned, allowing his filty form to be cuddled against the Ranger's, shivering pleasently as fingers attempted to run through his hair and settled for simply petting the pink and black tinged strands. "Do you think they might have a brush and comb there, as well?"   
  
Aragorn only chuckled at this and kissed his elf's head before guiding them away toward one of the bath rooms, eager to get them both fully clean. 


End file.
